Five days and counting...

After nearly 3 years of classes, research, late nights, and early mornings my college career is coming to a close. I graduate (ceremony and all) on Saturday. What a wonderful and fulfilling experience. I am ready for the world and all that it has to throw at me. I can't wait to start my career and be a valuable member of society. It is all sunshine and puppy dogs from here. I am single-handedly going to save the world, feed the hungry, create world peace, and invent the umbrella that will shade the Earth and stop global warming. I simply can not wait...

Cue the record screech...

You couldn't have possibly thought I was serious.

I have no fucking clue what comes next. I know, I know job, car, bills, house, blah, blah, blah. But seriously, what comes next? I have worked, droned, cried, lost sleep, smoked profusely, and busted my ass to get this far, and I realize now that this plan may not have been fully developed. I am sure, however, that I have shaved a couple of years off my life, and very recently a friend of mine noted that I had a significant patch of gray hair on the back of my head (thanks a lot some friend you are). I am clueless to how to best pursue the next stage of this endeavor. 
I realize that I am doing this about 5 years later than most people, but I assure you I am just as unprepared as any other newly graduated college student. Not to mention that I am already living with my parents because I am too damn broke and irresponsible to take care of myself (How much lower can I sink?). I find myself reading every article that I come across to read what jobs are or are not in fashion. I wait as the page loads (See"Let's Talk About Dial-Up") with bated breath, chewing my nails to nubs hoping that my field is or is not on the list. This is promptly followed by a laundry list of "what-ifs" that either comfort me or make me stress and worry even more. But seriously, what if?
What if I can't find anything in the next few months? Did I really do all this work so that I can work minimum wage? What if I can't even get one of those because some pimply faced douche-bag tells me that I am over qualified? Do you want to play 20 questions? Do you want fries with that?
Also, to all of you that think that the student loan people will not find you, contact you, or if you think that they will not be as diligent as you thought they would about the actual date repayment is starting to be calculated: You. Are.Wrong. They are not your credit card company or your grandma; they want their money and they will get it.
In conclusion, (a good way to start the final restatement of my original thesis) I have 5 days (and counting) to concluding my college career. I have no clue what is next, or how best to carry on with my life without college being a defining part of it. All I do know is this. In 5 days my parents are going to be WAY more excited than I am. While they are wiping tears of joy I am going to be white-knuckling the wheel trying to figure out the next direction to go. Their baby may be graduating from college, but surprise she is still going to be living in the room that you wanted to turn into a laundry room. And she has no fucking clue when she is leaving.

 Hey Mom and Dad, since I'm not going anywhere and I have lived with you so long that it makes more sense to wait you out than move away and since you are paying all of the bills and have the grocery budget figured out and my cats would never get fed unless you were the first ones up in the morning, how do you feel about graduate school? Just asking.

10 Reasons That It Is Not Cool To Talk Pokemon In You 20's

After listening to a rather lengthy conversation of 4 people on a college campus that will never get laid, I feel that it is important to help everyone understand why it is not cool to talk about Pokemon when you are in your 20's.

1. YOU ARE IN YOUR 20's (and one of you is on the better side of 30)! This was cute when you were five and thought that the animals were adorable and they were the inspiration for your Halloween costume. But you are not 5 anymore, are you? Let me help you out...NO YOU ARE NOT!!

2. If you think that your vast knowledge of the Pokemon Universe is going to get you laid you are sadly mistaken. No woman that has any self confidence or respect is going out into the world on a daily basis to troll for a man who knows how many hit points take down another character.

3. There is no practical application for the knowledge you possess. This will not help you balance your check book or live in the real world. You will never be mugged by Beedril, and if you were you would shit your pants and pass out because you don't have enough life experience to handle confrontation in the real world.

4. It is perfectly acceptable to work in a space that is designed for you to do so when you are on a COLLEGE CAMPUS!! This space is not an oportunity for you and your mouth breathers to get you game on. The rest of us are not impressed.  P.S. That Pikachu tattoo you are sporting is only cool to you and your five basement-dwelling friends. The rest of us get a huge laugh out of it...and not in a good way.

5. Knowing the proper name of a Pokemon character and using their catch phrase as an explicitive in a sentence is not cute...see number 1.

6. (To the one girl in this group.) You are a girl. You are smarter than this. Even in a stocking cap you have a better chance of getting laid than any other person in this group. Face it you have boobs. Use them. There is a whole world outside the realm of where-ever-the-fuck-Pokemon takes place, be a part of it.

7. Pokemon had its day, just like Power Rangers. That day is over. Face it and move on.

8. You shame your mother every time you make some heated monolog about the validity of one character and not the other. She was excited when you go into college. She thought that this was going to be a way to leave all of this behind. Do you hear her crying? She is said...it is because you collect Pokemon paraphernalia (and from what I gather you also play Magic). She weeps for you.

9. You did not win any competition that paid you $10,000 for being an all knowing Pokemon God. We know that was crap...well except the girl in the hat. She got that starry look in her eyes.

10. You have admitting to using cheats. You suck just like everyone else. If you are going to use cheats don't admit . Any claim to wonderment and all-knowing-ness that you thought you had is now moot. Dumbass!

I am not going to say that we don't all game from time to time. I am not going to say that I have never played Magic or any other less than cool fantasy game. The difference I am not nearly thirty and defining my day by knowledge and ability to play those games. If you are going to live in a fantasy world do something constructive with it. Memorizing a playbook for a card game...yes it is a card game is not going to make you cooler in the Old Folks Home so get out in the real world. your grandchildren (assuming that you will one day have them) want to hear about your naughty exploits and war stories they are not going to want you to rehash the great Pokemon battle of 2013. NO ONE CARES!!!

I don't feel sick anymore....

So I have very recently gotten a cold that was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact I didn't even really feel sick (i.e. sore throat, body aches, headache, etc.), but I have created more mucus in the last week than I thought was humanly possible. I felt kind of crappy the first night and have spent the next seven nights wiping my nose and coughing out stuff that probably wasn't really the result of biology. I mean, I have been a smoker for about 15 years, and I haven't coughed up this much junk in that time combined!
I (unlike some of my family members) was blessed with a small/slightly below average nose size so I find it hard to believe that there could really be this much snot in there. But 2 rolls of toilet paper, a box and a half of Kleenex, and a large quantity of paper towel later-- I am still spewing mucus at an alarming rate. My A&P class taught me that the creation of mucus in the body is to help line and protect mucosal membranes. Well, what the fuck is this much snot protecting?  This like a Slip and Slide for nose goblins! Whatever part of my body needs this much protection should probably be removed or relocate to a body that can take better care of it. I am obviously not doing a good job.

 

Ren and Stimpy

Nose Goblins copyright 1991-92

My Nettie Pot* surely helps the situation, but by the time that I rejoice in being able to breath out of both nostrils again one of them has already retreated to a state of stuffiness. This is really getting ridiculous. I am beginning to rethink my stance on mucus removing medications. I am really not one to take meds for the sake of taking them. I really believe that when you are sick you need to allow your body to fight off what ever you are sick with so that your immunities can build up against future illness. (I know that is crazy foolish talk to some of you hospital/doctor goers, but seriously, everything is not meant to be cured chemically.)
So the moral of this story is this: I don't feel sick anymore, but I am still a mouth-breather. AND THAT DRIVES ME CRAZY!! I absolutely hate when someone won't close their mouth and breathe through their nose, and now I am one of them. This abundance of sputum has made me like those that irritate me. I wonder if this Karma...nope just boogers.

*Let me explain the Nettie Pot to you. For all of you that don't know, it is a little tea-pot-shaped vessel that you fill with water and a saline solution. You then place the spout of the Nettie Pot into one nostril and through the magic that is gravity the snot and solution pours out the other nostril. It is truly a sight to behold. FYI: This is probably not something that you will want to use in front of someone you are in a new relationship with. This is not like the first pee in front of the person you may think that you have a future with. It is much grosser, and the faint of heart will leave you high and dry (and dripping with snot). This application is only to be done in the presence of people that are in it for the long hall. If you are unsure, shut the bathroom door.

P.S. As with the last video I posted I own no part of it. I am simply using it to create some funny. I took this one of YouTube also and it can be found there.

Who Pissed Off the Weather Gods?

I have lived in Michigan my entire life so I am not overly surprised by sudden changes in the weather. Our family motto is "Take a coat with you. You can always take it off, but you can't put it on if you don't have it." This is why I often get a strange look from people when I go into a store with my nephew and niece, both of which are carrying their heavy coats with them in 90 degree weather. Laugh it up people! In Michigan, Christmas in July may actually be accompanied by snow, and we are going to be ready for it. However, this year has been especially bad. I don't know who pissed off the Weather Gods, but they better do something to make amends and change the bad ju-ju. This is nuts.
I have seen large snowfalls. I have seen down pours. I once went Trick-or-Treating in slush, and before the night was over I had to take off my snow suit *because it was nearly 70 degrees. But this is

a bit much. Michigan was suffering from bazaar weather long before Al Gore made that Global Warming movie. This year (in April, mind you) we have had nearly 65 degree weather, rain, snow, sleet, flooding, and residents that are at their wits end. Most of that has happened in about a  3 day span. I don't think that stupid groundhog knows his ass from a hole in the ground: that is all I'm saying. I never thought that I would see the day that I was hoping that the rain would turn to snow just so that the road wouldn't flood completely out. Even though I live on a dirt road** I know that I am not the only person that is feeling this way. I also never thought that I would be grateful to not have a basement. I am sure that the sump pumps are working overtime. "Ralphy, go to the basement, get in the canoe, and paddle over to the Christmas decorations to get the cat. He isn't going to be hunting mice down there for awhile. They have all gone to higher ground."

Today, we are experience something like 40 mph winds, and I can't help but think that even Winnie-the-Pooh would have let Piglet's scarf go on a day like to day. He would have gone into his tree-house made a spot of tea (with "hunny" of course), and began to write a very heartwarming and sincere eulogy for his tiny friend. Every man for himself! The river has crept out of his bed, the wind is more than blustery, and Eeyore's house was long ago washed out. It has rained, the wind has blown, and it actually snowed rather heavily for a good 20 minutes before reverting back to the rain state today. I don't whether I should put on rain boots or a parka to go check the mail. Probably both! Oh, who am I kidding? Fuck the mail. It is too damn Bi-Polar to go outside, and the only thing out there is junk mail and bills. Who needs that kind of aggravation? 

* Yes, I said, "snow suit". In Michigan it is not uncommon for children to wear layers of clothes under their Halloween costume. They are often designed to fit over sweatpants, waders, snow pants, and winter coats. Tiaras, wigs, and horns are all designed to fit atop stocking caps and hoods, as well. That is true devotion to candy and holiday spirit.
**For those of you that don't know what it is: A dirt road is just that, an unpaved "back road" or "secondary road" that is dirt top or gravel for part of the year, a mud bogging pit for part of the year, and a solid sheet of glass-like ice for the rest of the year. But hey, at least the one I live on is sparsely neighbored.

If pets were meant to wear clothes...

If pets were meant to wear clothes and head gear they wouldn't have fur. Think about it: there is really no reason to put any type of clothing on your pet. I am not saying that I am totally not guilty of this myself, but that doesn't make it right. There has never been (no matter what you think) a pet that has woken up thinking, "I wonder what I should wear today. I sure hope that it matches that pink clutch that she loves. Even though I am a boy (and they have cut off my nuts), I really dig that pink sweater and polka-dot bow-tie she makes me wear." Never-going-to-happen.

Case and point... Does this look like a happy face to you?

I am not placing guilt or blame on children (especially little girls) that spend their day dressing their kitty in baby bonnets and doll clothes. This is natural and to the animal is brave enough to stick around, it is a phase that will pass eventually (hang in there Mr. Jeremiah Snowball Fluffyface your patience will be rewarded). Also, I am not saying that the occasional holiday photo or card is not an adorable thing to find in the mail box or a photo album, but again the animals are not waiting with bated breath to wear those red felt, reindeer antlers that light up and tink-tink-tink Jingle Bells.

In case you are not believing me...

I am almost positive that most times they view this as a type of torture designed to make them hot, uncomfortable, and miserable. Hello! Animals are not built like people, and even though that Joe's Crab Shack t-shirt fits your Boxer, and looks adorable, I am sure that he is not comfortable in it. That is why the neck is stretched out and in the wrong place, and he is barely able to move his front legs. The only dog that this look worked for was Spudz McKenzie. About the only thing that (I speculate) an animal may enjoy is the sunglasses; no one enjoys blinding sunlight while riding in the car. Now let me clarify, I am not saying that putting a sweater on a hairless dog or cat in the middle of winter is a bad idea. But what the hell were you thinking getting a hairless animal when you live in cold weather climate? Did you not foresee this poor animal's eventual discomfort and fear of the outdoors? This is not a great idea. Think before you purchase, adopt, save, or inherit an animal. Just because they are adorable doesn't mean that you are a destined-by-the-gods perfect match.
The idea of entire clothing lines for animals (designed specifically so that they fit animals) is also a weird industry. In America, every year there is something like a bizzlion dollars spent on animal clothes and accessories.* I just think that if you stood back and gave a good thought to the better things that you could be doing with the money you are spending on this you could think of better things to do. Your animals are not accessories people, they don't care if the two of you match, and they are not interested in look chic and sassy.

Okay, there is an exception to every rule. This cat is rocking this sweater, and he knows it.

* This obviously is not a real statistic. Just because you read it here, on the Internet, it doesn't make it true. We will talk about that at greater length later...

Procrastinators unit!! (Tomorrow)

Well, I have had a little trouble pulling together a topic for today's post. So I think that it is appropriate to discuss procrastination*. Ah, procrastination. Mother Nature's way of thinning out the human herd. Think about**it. If a procrastinator creates the habit of waiting for everything to happen (or get done) then it is quite likely that reproduction on the behalf of the procrastinator would never occur. They would forever be waiting their lives away, and would never actually get off their asses and fornicate often enough (or maybe long enough) to create offspring.

Following that logic it is safe to assume that the personality predisposition to procrastinate could be the human Darwinian equivalent of natural selection. I once read that natural selection could originally be seen in the "hunter and gather" times when "natives" pushed buffalo herds off mountains and such so that they could survive. The people that had poor eyesight could not see harm in the way and therefore met their demise. The people that had physical disability would be unable to share in the spoils since they didn't fully participate in the gathering of food stuffs and supplies, which would eventually lead to ostracization of that person from the clan, tribe, etc. In a round about way it is likely that this then would lead to their inability to care for themselves. In short, don't bee sickly, disabled, or blind or you would have starved to death or fallen off a cliff in olden times.

 

Hunter Magoo

UPA. Copyrght MCMLX

Now for the rest of the story, I often find myself procrastinating for no other reason than I have made a habit of it. I often find myself wondering if I have Adult ADD or ADHD, which ever one means that I am medically able to procrastinate and have the attention span of a squirrel. Of course, I am not sure that the creation and access to social media helps. Mmmm...Pinterest. Mmmm...Facebook. However, it is not only social media that does it; realistically crap TV, a good book (or a bad book for that matter), the cat, a hang nail, mirror reflections on the wall, a bug on the ceiling, or my guitar (among other things) could all be just as easily to blame for my complete disregard of a project that I know that I should finish or a chore I should do. This is probably the reason that there is a family of dust bunnies living under my bed that even the cat wouldn't dream of stalking. I remember when I was a teenager that my mother had once told me that I would grow out of the procrastination phase. I am sorry Mother; I believe that you are wrong.
So here I am struggling to finish this post because I can feel in my bones that there is something on Pinterest and Facebook that I am missing. There is likely to be at least one book in the stack of 4 that I have started that is bound to be amazing, and I am positive that there are 3 paintings that I need to finish. Not to mention the laundry list of songs that I want to learn...oh and the laundry. Oh look a recipe for Chicken Fajita Flatbread Pizza....

* And apparently a warped view of Darwinism, I am  not really sure how that happened.
**Seriously, this is the point in writing today's post where I got sidetracked by Pinterest for 20 minutes, and totally forgot that I was writing this.


P.S. I want to make it clear that I own no part of this video. I simply took it off Youtube.com, trimmed it, and uploaded it here. Click here to see the full version.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you so much for making me an only child. After spending sometime with my cousin's children I realize how complicated it must be to be a sibling. I am grateful that I didn't have to play games that were made up as they went along with rules that are always changing so that the creator is destined to win. I am grateful that I didn't have feet in my face as I slept or a face in my face as soon as I woke up from a nap that would have been more restful had my sister used her "indoor voice". Likewise, I am grateful that my shoes, clothes, toys, snacks, and room were my own.
It simple amazes me to watch the dynamics between siblings. When there are two they are together forever; them against the world. When there are three, it is every man for himself. How ever when there is three children, there is the occasion when it is two against one: two sisters against one brother (Good luck, Buddy!) or two younger siblings against the oldest (after 5 years of being the boss...you are going down) or the oldest and the youngest against the middle child ("I have an idea, and you are small enough to do the recon and young enough to take the blame). It is an interesting system of hierarchy. I feel like someone from the National Geographic or the Discovery Channel making a documentary on the early learning habits and cohabitation of humanoid young. If there are life forms on other planets there must be television feeds that stream the day-to-day play of children in an attempt to better understand our race of beings.
I find myself envious when I watch a child say no or refuse to follow direction. Instead, of the overly exhausted mother (that can barely remember if she had showered, let alone where her car keys are) submit to the abuse and tantrums of her children. "I don't want to wear that!!! I want to wear this!!!" "FINE! Just get dressed I have to go get groceries so that the baby has diapers! This dishtowel diaper is not going to last for long, and we have to be home that you can watch Dora!" After loosing the battle, it appears as though the mother doesn't even seem to notice that her child is dressed in striped pants, a tutu, rubber boots, a tank top, a cameo jacket, and a cowboy (or girl) hat. However, everyone else that doesn't suffer blindness notices. Let's no longer judge this mother, you may have also gotten up at 7 A.M., but her day has been much longer than yours. A child's ability to make their parent (or any adult) complacent to their irrational wants and needs is amazing.                             
Truth be told, my non-existent siblings are probably glad that I was not their sister. Let's face it, I am not a ray of sunshine. I am sure that the unwanted sharing of my shoes, clothes, toys, snacks, and room would have resulted in endless knock-down-drag-outs. Hell, my closest cousins can contest to my attitude toward sharing and following direction. Even if I had siblings I probably wouldn't anymore.
So thank you Mom and Dad, for having the forsight to see that I needed to be an only child. That it was in your best interest to make me so. I think we have all benefited from it.

I salute you! Sincerely,
Me
Your loving daughter and only child, who never really understood why I was an only child until recently.

The Pox

So as an adolescent I very rarely had any kind of pimple or acne. Now at the ripe-old-age of nearly 28 I have out breaks like a teenager, and it is really getting ridiculous. These are not your run of the mill, tiny pimples that show up and quickly go away either. These are giant pimples that appear on my face overnight to single-handedly ruin my life, and while they are probably not as intrusive and noticeable to other people as I feel they are. I am pretty sure that they are decorated like a parade float and princess waving to everyone that I see.

And for some reason, there seems to be no way to cure these disgusting, intrusive blemishes. I pop and pinch and poke and prod them. In response they laugh and grow a tiny sibling for themselves to taunt me further. I have washed my face with everything but lye and ammonia and still they linger. I scrub and scour to no end but instead of going away the skin over Mt. Vesuvius just gets bright and shinny, which gives it about as much appeal as a fat stripper covered in body glitter.
There seems to be little help for this problem. I have heard it all about eating better, cutting out caffeine, getting more sunlight, washing your face more often, blah, blah, blah! Let me tell you right now: I like eating junk food, I drink caffeine because nothing else helps a hangover, and if I washed my face more often my eyebrows would be scrubbed off. Likewise, all of the home remedies don't seem to work. I have tried to put toothpaste on it, no dice. I have tried to put honey on it with a Band-aide, it makes me crave cornbread. This crap doesn't work. All of the over the counter stuff seems to dry out my skin like the Sahara. And whoever told me that I should try a seaweed rub needs to have their head checked. I freakout when my leg gets wrapped in seaweed when I am swimming I will be damned if I am going to put it on my face.
Onward I trudge trying this potion and that until I as exhausted, my skin is shiny, and the planet on my chin is creating its own orbit. Finally, after days of trying and not succeeding the swelling will subside, and by morning there will be little proof that the God-awful pox that I had suffered had ever existed. Of course, this happens when I no longer have anywhere that I have to go, and lets face it the cat could care less weather or not I have a giant zit on my face. But as soon as the weekend is over, and I have to show my face in the world....its baaaaaaaaack.

Let's Talk About Dial-Up

I am sure that you have all heard stories about the awful inadiquate thing that is Dial-up Internet. Yes, this is really a thing, and contrary to popular belief it does, in fact, still exist. It is only found at the end of the world where (according to my nearly 90-year-old great uncle) the chicken's associate with the hoot owls. Some of you may even be thinking, "Dial-up Internet? What the hell is that?"
In short, it is terrible, Dial-up was the Internet connection that was used well before even DSL existed. It is connected directly to a telephone line via a modem, and it moves at the speed of snail. The things that take a nanosecond to load with modern day high-speed take lifetimes with Dial-up. Forget watching videos of your friends child who amazingly managed to stick their fist in their mouth while singing Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star or downloading that music that your friends swear you have to hear, you will be too old  and blind and deaf to enjoy it by the time that it loads.
Of course Dial-up is relatively cheap (or in my case free), and that is a good thing because no one in their right mind would ever pay for something that makes you want to pull your hair out, throw your computer, and give up on the idea of communicating with the outside world all together. So if ever you are wondering why I have not posted or why the post is so late in the day, you will know that it is because the Horrible Dial-up Monster has sent me running into the hills naked and ranting about its evils. It is quite possible by the time the posting is up that I have been put in jail for public indecency, using profanity in public, spitting on the street (because I will have been foaming at the mouth), assault with deadly weapon (when you are swinging a keyboard above you head like a mace it is likely to be dangerous), and fleeing the scene (when you are naked in and in a state of crazy you are going to keep on-a-going). At that time, there will be a PayPal account set up in my name, the link will be on the left side of the page, please donate to my bail and lawyer fees. Thank you.

Fuck You Early Mornings

Have I mentioned yet that I hate mornings? Well then, I will do it right now...I FUCKING HATE MORNINGS!! Well, I don't hate all mornings the ones that start between 10:00 AM and Noon; they are fine with me. It is the evil mornings that I hate. The ones that begin when it is still dark out, and no one in their right mind would be up, unless they had not yet gone to sleep. These despicable mornings begin when even the cat is not ready to get out of bed. They are the ones that I fear in the same way that a child would fear the Boogieman or the Monster Under the Bed. The thought of them makes me shake, gives me anxiety, and makes me lay awake the night before counting the hours I have to sleep before the terrible, horrible early morning arrives.

Let's talk about that little phenomenon, shall we? Isn't it wonderful knowing that you have something important or necessary that you have to do early in the morning (when you want to be sleeping anyway) and the night before every possible thing that could keep you from sleeping does just that? No it isn't. All of a sudden you brain has decided to rage war on your ability to sleep. You begin to create a grocery list, that song that you have always hated keeps playing its most irritating lines over and over like a vinyl with a scratch*, every time you get comfortable the cat is uncomfortable and you begin that fun battle for bed space and enough blanket to cover you ass so that you don't get frost bite, or (my personal favorite) every rouge feather in you pillow decides to make its way the fabric's surface and poke you in the face. So you wiggle around and you toss and turn and you stare at the clock counting down the hours you have to sleep. All the while, you are becoming more and more exhausted and frustrated by the minute. If you are like me you are not delusional. You know just exactly how ornery you are on a regular morning, and even though it is 3:46 AM and you only have 2 hours and 23 minutes to sleep you feel bad for any of the idiots that are bound to cross your path tomorrow.

The Where-The-Hell-Are-You-Going? Face

Eventually, it happens. The alarm clock goes off blaring in you ear, but at this point you are too drunk with exhaustion to find it with any type of speed and accuracy. If you are like me you are likely to hit the top of the lamp, knock a book and a glass of water onto the floor, and upsetting the cat who at this point is more irritated with you insolence than anything else. So you crawl out of bed, meander into the shower, and get dressed. Your shoes find their way on your feet, and much to your surprise you are ready to get out the door on time. Bonus!! 

But we all know that the people that will pass by you during the day will notice that you had forgot to brush your hair and the bags on under your eyes would never be considered a carry-on. It will feel as if no amount of coffee is going to correct what has gone so sorely wrong...that is until about 10:00 that night when you are contemplating going to bed, but you are more interested in the idea of mowing the house and painting the lawn, because your body is now on caffeine overload. Two hours later you finally make it to bed after you have done more Jumping Jacks and arm raises in that time then you have done in ten years only to lay down, look at the clock, and realize you have exactly 7 hours and 28 minutes to sleep before you have to get up in the morning. "Damn it!! 8-6-7-5-3-oh-niiieeeiioon, 8-6-7-5-3-oh-niiieeeiioon, apples, Worcestershire sauce, string cheese...fuck."

 
* For all of you youngsters out there: A vinyl is short for "vinyl record." A vinyl record was a large, black disc (for lack of a better term) that spun on something called a turntable (Google it. I don't have time to explain everything to you), and the turntable was wired into speakers. The needle on the turntable than played the music that was "encrypted" on the "disc". They are very cool and once upon a time they were the only way to buy music. Think giant black CD, and if you can't remember when music was strictly on CD...then go read something else this blog is not for you.

Living Like a Gypsy

Living like a gypsy is hard!! As of late, I have found myself packing up to go to the __________ for the weekend or the week or a couple of days. I am truly grateful to have couches, air mattresses, and floors across this great land to crash on. It is really wonderful to hide out for a couple of days, and enjoy breaking up the monotony of the day to day. At most of them I don't even have to bring my own pillow. Allowing someone to use your favorite blanky and drool on that pillow that you would throw out if only your stray friends would mate up or go home is true friendship.
Have you ever noticed that it is never that hard to pack the instant someone offers you prospects of free room, board, and booze. In that moment you are like The Flash sprinting around your room and house gathering all of the ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY everythings that you are going to need to get drunk and wallow on a friend's couch for a couple of days while nursing a hangover. You know that hang over, right? The one that makes you swear off drinking and promise the gods that you will never drink again if only they would kill you (if possible in a blaze of glory) immediately. Hell, they could have done it the night before, sparing you the agony of morning. If only they were not refreshing their own refreshments somewhere before, :I can drink Tequila like a sailor."* And, "What do you mean we are out of wine?"** But damn it when someone springs a weekend away on you, you just never know what you might need.
The reloading all of the stuff that you really didn't need now that you have weakened and poisoned your body for the weekend is never fun. Then, trucking your crap into the house while the cat circles your feet and the dog kicks up the rug in excitement allowing you to stumble while carrying everything you possibly could in one trip in an attempt to make one sprint into the house from the car. Good times. Let's face it, it was probably not necessary to take you jewelery box, Christmas sweater, tweezers, tent stakes, second grade year book, lava lamp, rubber boots, scoop shovel, mixing bowl, feather duster, and electric pencil sharpener with you. Onward your pile staggers like a Jenga stack on a teeter-totter until you can finally toss it onto a surface that can handle the weight of your slightly-over packed pile of what-the-hell-was-I-thinking. Whew! Glad to be home!
 Isn't it wonderful?! Home!! Pants off!! Bra off!! Wine opened (what can I say, it is fun to celebrate a homecoming)! Hurray, hurray!! Once the fridge is raided and you have sat lifelessly in front of the television for longer than you realized, you give a good stretch and think: "I am going to bed early." That is when you realize it, the horrible truth, the repressed memory of that large pile of crap that stands between you and the endless love affair that you have with your bed comes barreling down on you. Reality sets in. You have to put away your stuff. All of a sudden all of the algebra and geometry that you had taken in high school, and swore up and down that you would never need, is pulled out of the depths of your dusty, cobwebbed mind as you attempt to figure out how you can move and stuff all of it into the dark crevasses of the room so that you can go to bed. Why are you doing this to me Christmas sweater? I was the only person who loved your reindeer with its crooked antlers and one googley eye. I didn't judge you when only half of you twinkle light worked and the dingers in you bells were long gone. No one else would have bought you in July when it was 97 degrees, and you are fading into loneliness. I was there for you; I thought we were friends.  
Finally. you have hidden and stacked it into a narrow path that will allow you to stumble to the bathroom in the darkness of night (or anytime before 10 AM). You pull back the sheets, climb into bed, cover up, get greeted by the cat, yawn forcefully, and begin to doze. However, the wonderment of it will be short lived when your eyelids fly open as though some has called fire.
The phone is ringing: "Hello? Nothing. No, I am not sleeping; it is only 8:30. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Sure. No, I don't mind. I would love to help you make 750 cupcakes for your second-cousin's third-husband's birthday party. tomorrow? Do I need to pick anything up? You did? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Daiquiris? Well if you already bought it, then I guess we will use rum. No problem. See you at Noon."
Damn it, following you heart, living on the edge, venturing into new horizons, packing all of your crap so that you can do it all again as though you are stuck in the reality show version of Groundhog's Day is hard...but at least there are drinks and laughs and good times to be had.


*Seriously, who doesn't cut off their friend when they say something like that? (Possible S.A.T. Question: tequila is to sailor as _________ is to Mexico.)
** FYI: If the night goes from Tequila to wine...no one wins.

Hold on a Damn Minute This is Going to Be Exciting!

So I have decided to write a blog (obviously). I got a little gun-ho about it, and now I have nothing to post (obviously); even though I have told everyone about it and sent of Facebook invites (obviously). So you will just have to wait. There will be good things to come. We will laugh and cry and buy a monkey; it will be amazing. You are going to want to see this, be a part of this, tell you grandchildren that you remember when you were the first person to ever read the amazingly, wonderful Sarcasm or Truth? blog.  Where are you going? Are you coming back? Fine! That is just fine! The monkey and I will have more fun with out you! I was going to let you name him, but now you....oh, coming back now are you? Well, you have left me once, you will probably do it again. And the monkey and I will laugh and laugh and laugh....